


Bubambene Nobusuku

by KenrakenOkwaho



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Eventual Smut, Explosions, Five Stages of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied Slash, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Marvel Universe, Nightmares, No Smut, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenrakenOkwaho/pseuds/KenrakenOkwaho
Summary: Getting over his father's death isn't easy, everyone knows he's suffering, but they can do nothing to stop him from slowly breaking into pieces. Yet, despite all of this, he finds solace in an unexpected place.





	Bubambene Nobusuku

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I really am bad at summaries :))
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The shout he wakes up with echoes through the night, convulsions raking every muscle in his weary body as the moon's silver rays cascade over the translucent sheen of sweat chilling his skin. He can't breathe. He can't hear. He can't see. He can't think. He is so feeble.

His well structured nervous system seems to fail him at this point, trying desperately to stabilise itself, but with minimal results. It's no surprise, he was expecting this, yet he still hoped that such a limit will not be reached. The other functions of his soma fare no better, lungs suddenly too small and frail to inhale the much-needed oxygen, a familiar rumble reverberating incessantly through the hollows of his ears while he blinks rapidly, eyes blurry from the unshed tears he's hiding every day from his mother, from his sister, from his guards, from his people because he is the king... he just can't allow himself to show this weakness, not now, not when Wakanda needs him to stay strong.

It's nothing new, it happens every night, anguished screams and wails and howls haunt his mind like lost ghosts, unrelenting as they dance with the pain, the grief, the sorrow burning with the flames and rubble left behind by the explosion that took away his father. And each time he lays his head back on the pillow, looking at the ceiling with exhausted and dull chocolate orbs, devoid of energy and life. And each time it's the same, he can't fall back asleep, heart clenching in his chest from agonising memories, mind spinning with the images that swirl and switch and overlap inside the network of his brain and synapses.

Eventually, his body manages to reset itself as night progresses, suddenly going limp and numb in its attempt at self-preservation. T'Challa knows that it's not exactly a normal reaction, but it is certainly better than shutting down completely. The wave of anger that follows does not affect him like it did a year ago. He anticipates it, he is used to it, he accepts it. And it's so obvious how messed up he is, all five stages of grief hitting him at once, even after all this time. He should be fine, but he is not... and he might never be again. What's worse is that everyone can see his struggle and they are powerless as they watch him fading slowly, withering away. These thoughts subside after a while, the tornado of rage, frustration, guilt, blame and denial being reduced to a simmering fire in his soul as he gets up, prepared to follow the nightly routine that somehow established itself over the span of a few months.

He doesn't bother to change his clothes, exiting his room clad only in his sleeping pants. The Dora Milaje standing by his door don't utter a word as they watch his defeated form walk down the hall towards the gym, feet literally dragging themselves across the floor in an automatic and mechanical manner. Ten destroyed punching bags and one breakdown later, his mind wanders to the broken man trapped in the glacial cage not too far away from him. Barnes has been through so much, war, torture, brainwashing. He lost everything and yet here he is, alive, despite the fact that he is frozen, he still has Steve regardless of the slightly strained reestablishment of their... friendship...? Relationship...? T'Challa doesn't know, and he doesn't particularly want to find out, a sense of frustration and something he can't quite put his finger on washing over him at the reminder of the bond between the two Americans. Shaking his head he stares at his bare hands, knuckles bloody and bruised from nearly two hours of relentless pummeling. The pain doesn't affect him, he enjoys it... Why? He doesn't know. Maybe because he blames himself for not being more cautious, for not stopping his father from reacting directly to the disaster, maybe because he doesn't want to understand why his father of all people had to die just to prove Zemo's point, even though it's obvious.

Looking around the room, he sees the scattered and ripped punching bags lying on the floor, but he makes no move to at least gather them in one place, he leaves them there, someone will clean up later. The sky is still dark when he steps out in the hall, stars twinkling on its endless canvas as he watches them mingle with the jungle slumbering peacefully under them. If the Dora Milaje notice the damage he inflicted upon himself, they choose to remain silent. Through the wide windows everything seems so surreal, a different world coming to life once the last beam of sunlight dies. It's calming.

It doesn't last.

The tranquil minutes are gone in a flash, his mind going back to sorting through tormenting memories, prompting his feet to move on their own accord as he begins pacing back and forth. Unaware, he lets them carry him further down the hall, but not towards his room, no, towards the lost soul slumbering in ice. It's not the first time he does this, he often finds himself gravitating closer to Barnes and just as often he asks himself why, without finding a reason in the end. Seeing him just helps T'Challa finds a sense of peace he lacks ever since that faithful day, simple as that. In the short time between Siberia and putting the super soldier into cryostasis, he caught a glimpse of the kind, bright... beautiful soul buried under all that pain, sorrow, vulnerability, barely flickering inside the shell of a man who managed to survive for so long. Perhaps that's why he is so fascinated by the Winter Soldier, perhaps that's why he forgets everything when he finds himself before the cryostasis chamber, eyes taking in the chiseled features of the man inside, so oddly pure. Sometimes he wonders what is going on behind that serene mask. Is he dreaming? Is he floating into a vortex of darkness? Is there a war raging inside his mind? If there is, his body doesn't show it, medical equipment detecting no anomalies in his brain or heart activity. Who knows, maybe they will find a way to eliminate the programme rooted in the deepest corners of the other's mind and then... then he might have the chance to see that bright, bright soul again, feel it warm his own as they connect.

By the time he finally leaves, the gentle light of dawn peeks on the horizon. He's calm... for now, he embraces the pitiful state he is in as he makes his way towards his room to wash away the blood and put on his facade, to prepare for another day of ignoring the screams, the fire and the tears, a brittle spark inside his heart keeping him alive until night comes and he goes to James again.

He's always been a fighter, he can pull through.


End file.
